Hyggelig
by heyheroics
Summary: (hyggelig: taking pleasure from the presence of gentle, comforting and soothing things; a feeling of friendship, warmth, peace and contentment) My response to tumblr's VoltronWhumpWeek2017. Seven times Keith saved Lance and the one time Lance returns the favor.
1. (Fever) Lance the Puppet

Hi guys, I'm back from the grave, sorta! It's been a while since I posted anything but here I am with a new name, and in a new fandom, whoa! CHANGES!

This was written in response to **Voltronwhumpweek2017** on tumblr, which provided 8 prompts of pure whump! Therefore there will be 8 chapters/segments. I missed the due dates for the prompts on tumblr but I still plan to update what I've written as I complete them. Since these are for tumblr prompts, I did not get too in-depth or get too hung up on details. I just wanted to do some simple writing practice but I hope you all still enjoy! I needed something to get my creative juices flowing again and I thought this would be the way to do it!

Yes, hyggelig is, in fact, a word.

 **Hyggelig** – (adj.) taking pleasure from the presence of gentle, comforting and soothing things; a feeling of friendship, warmth, peace and contentment

Because I like the idea of Keith and Lance's friendship getting to a point where they take comfort in each other's presence. In case you couldn't tell, I'm a sucker for Keith and Lance friendship pieces, so expect a lot of that. In fact, its possible you should expect nothing less. So, there's that.

...Also I try really hard to keep these short but somehow they end up way longer than I intend. OOPS.

Okay! Please enjoy my sorry contribution to the fandom!

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Prompt 1: **FEVER**

They spend _days_ searching for the ship that harbors Lance but they do eventually find it. Keith's determination reaches a high when he finally lays eyes on the Blue Paladin, because it is not what he expects.

He isn't sure _what_ he expects, honestly. A bloodied, malnourished heap on a cell floor and littered with bruises, maybe. Maybe gagged and hanging from the ceiling in thick chains. But no; Lance is just _standing there_ , unmarked, very much _not scared_ , if anything looking a little flushed, with nothing but his flight suit and bayard. His face is solemn and dark and much more serious than Keith has ever seen.

A strange feeling ripples in Keith's stomach when Lance stands between him and Haggar not by force, but by sheer desire to protect her.

Keith doesn't miss the crooked smile on Haggar's face. Haggar does not miss the narrowing of Keith's eyes.

"You can sense it," Haggar says. And Keith scowls darkly; of _course_ he can sense it.

"Let him go, witch."

"My loyal Paladin," she addresses Lance, ignoring Keith's words entirely. Lance perks at the sound of her voice. Even leans towards her slightly, lured to the sound. "Do not allow any harm to befall me."

"Of course," Lance drones in a voice that is very, very _un_ Lance-like. No emotion, no life, not the slightest inflection. Lance's bayard materializes into his trusted blaster, which he then aims at Keith, finger ghosting over the trigger to gently stroke it, daring Keith to make a move.

And Keith _knows_. He knows Lance is a good shot. Sees the practiced posture and the narrowed gaze, but the breathing is off. It's raspy and uneven. Shaky. Gun trembling in his hands. The sheen of sweat on Lance's skin glistens in the purple lighting.

Lance is sick.

And unless Lance's health is just a victim to bad timing, it must be a side effect of whatever dark magic Haggar has placed him under.

But a feverish Lance could very well be his saving grace. If Keith moves fast, he might be able to avoid getting hit long enough to incapacitate him. Lance also struggles with close quarters combat, and his reaction time is going to be slowed by the fever.

Up close and personal it is, then.

"It's over," Lance deadpans.

"You're right," Keith tries to stall. Just for a few ticks. He forces a smirk and glances just behind Lance, at Haggar. "While you were distracted, we've already killed the witch."

Lance's eyes widen as he whips around to look at Haggar, who is as unharmed as she was before, but looking angered by the Red Paladin's trick.

Keith springs forward as fast as he possibly can, shield up and ready the instant he does because Lance's attention is drawn back instantly and takes a blind shot. The blast skims the tip of his shield, throwing Keith off balance but only momentarily. He ignores the way his ankle twists as he tries to change direction too fast, winces and grits his teeth at the feel of one of Lance's shots clipping him in the shin.

He pushes through it; Lance had been thrown off by Keith's lie and now Keith needs to utilize every tick it provides him. With a battle cry, Keith leaps at Lance to tackle him to the ground, making sure to grab for Lance's blaster before they hit the ground. He manages to wrench it from Lance's grip before they crash, haphazardly pointing it in Haggar's direction and rapid-firing. His aim is true, but the blasts only make Haggar dissipate in a cloud of wispy, black smoke.

Then they hit the floor. The back of Lance's head bounces against the ground with a sickening crack; a sound that Keith will not be able to get out of his head for at least a week.

Now, this close to Lance, Keith can _feel_ the heat radiating off of him. Can hear the soft rattle in Lance's chest when he breathes. And there is also… _buzzing?_

There is faint static, no question. Like the white noise in his helmet when communications go down. Keith gets to his knees and leans over Lance's body, pressing the gun to Lance's chest to keep him down. Just in case.

"Don't move," he warns, but Lance makes no attempt to get up, or even to open his eyes. He just mumbles and groans and sighs and tries to sniff with a slightly stuffy nose.

One hand holding the gun steady, Keith brings his free hand towards Lance's head to brush his fingers through short hair. It's damp with sweat and blood and after a moment Keith finds it; a hard lump in the back, at the base of Lance's skull. Like hard plastic embedded in his skin. Keith picks at it until it dislodges and observes it his hand. It's a small device that looks like a computer chip, damaged from the impact and emitting a tinny whirring sound. With a frown, Keith crushes it further in his hand.

"Lance?"

Lance flinches at the sound of his name. Coughs. Deflates as if suddenly too exhausted to do anything else. "They sent Keith," he says to no one, lacking his usual snark but the emotion there sounds like, by every means, _Lance_. Sluggishly he slings an arm over his eyes. "Out of all of them, _Keith_ found me."

Keith puts down the blaster and grabs Lance's bicep instead. He doesn't want to wait around for Haggar to return. "Yup. Come on, time to get up."

Lance groans his distaste for the idea of moving, weakly pulling his arm free. "No. I feel like crud. Let me stay here for a while."

"Lance, let's _go_. It's not safe to stay here."

"Let me say it in _Español_ ," Lance counters. " _No._ "

"We're on a Galra ship, idiot. Get up." Then he taps the comms and announces, "I've got Lance. Heading to the extraction point now."

Semi-apologetically, Keith drags Lance to his feet and hooks an arm under his to keep him upright. Lance is heavier than he looks and awkward to support. Keith resists the urge to grumble about being bogged down should they run into trouble.

They make it to the extraction point, a task made easy thanks to the map Pidge provided Keith earlier, and now all Keith has to do is _wait_ for pick-up; something he doesn't very much like to do. He sinks down and lets Lance lie across his lap, both for Lance's comfort and to relieve himself of the extra weight.

He aches to be more useful with the extra ticks, but can think of nothing. _This is useful,_ a little voice supplies. _Lance needs you_.

And Lance, sweating and panting and burning to the touch, starts feebly clawing at his stomach. "Hate this," he whines. "I think I'm..."

Keith has the mind to roll Lance off of his lap just in time to avoid Lance's vomit. He tentatively presses a hand to Lance's back to rub circles in what he hopes in an act of comfort, watching helplessly as Lance trembles and dry heaves with the effort of expelling the contents of his stomach, which appears to be a lot of nothing. He wonders briefly anyone bothered to feed Lance while he was in captivity.

Drained, Lance collapses to the ground, digging his palms into his temple to banish what is probably a headache left behind by the residual traces of Haggar's presence in his mind.

After a moment, Keith carefully pulls the boy back onto his lap, hand cradling the back of Lance's head to keep stock of the small wound there. Lance stays put, squirming only when he puts his hands back over his stomach.

"Don't get anything on my clothes," Keith warns, without bite.

"You…" Lance sounds hoarse and in pain, but also very grateful not to be alone. "…You are not _nearly_ as good at this as my mom."

Keith's expression flattens. "I'm not your mom."

The tiniest uplift of the corner of Lance's mouth. "Th-that's what I'm saying. No soup. No hugs. No singing. Face it; she's a lot better at this than… than…"

Lance's eyes begin to drift shut.

"Lance—"

"—you."

"I _will_ drop you," Keith threatens, and its not really a bluff. Lance has just survived being mind-raped by Haggar, is smart-mouthing through a seemingly high fever, along with other possible injuries he might not be aware of – surely one little drop from Keith's lap to the floor won't kill the guy.

But then he catches the look on Lance's face and realizes none of it is an insult. It isn't even Lance trying to antagonize him. It's a hint. A cry for attention and comfort. But Lance is _fine_. He hates the pods but always comes out fine. He gets into stupid, sometimes life-threatening situations all the time and he's always… fine.

"I'm not good at this," Keith admits so quietly that he doesn't think Lance hears him. He puts a hand to Lance's forehead to gauge what he is dealing with and purses his lips at how hot the skin feels. Lance subconsciously nuzzles into the touch, so Keith pulls away, uncomfortable. "...Anyway I think the others are here."

Lance folds his lips in on themselves the way lips do when someone doesn't want to cry. He grabs at Keith's hands with startling strength. "I'll walk you through it then, I guess." Then he says, darkly, seriously, "What I want is… Just. _Tell me it's okay, Keith._ "

 _Oh._ But Keith hesitates to say it. Nothing is ever guaranteed. Telling Lance that everything will be okay would just be lying.

Lance is staring at him again, sick and needy and annoying but its just the two of them. No one else here and no one else needs to know that Keith is here telling his teammate empty promises.

He thinks this as the Green Lion comes into view and opens her maw for them to enter. Keith pulls Lance to his feet again and tries to ignore the way Lance tucks his head into his shoulder and just _breathes_. And Keith, for as gross and sickly hot as it feels, allows it. If past bonding moments are anything to go by, Lance might not even remember this, anyway.

So.

"It's… okay. Lance." Keith doesn't miss the way Lance relaxes ever so slightly. So he says again, this time with more conviction, " _Everything is going to be okay_."


	2. (Hypothermia) Lance the Freezebaby

**A/N:** What? Whoa? Holy crap? Forget whumpweek apparently I am just posting these as I see fit? Have another prompt that makes a short appearance in the actual story! Yay! I'm telling you, I wanted these to be like super short drabble pieces but it never turns out that way in the end. Oh darn.

Not much to say other than sorry for the wait! Today's Prompt: Hypothermia

 **hyggelig -** (adj). taking pleasure from the presence of gentle, comforting and soothing things; a feeling of friendship, warmth, peace and contentment.

xxx

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Prompt 2: **HYPOTHERMIA**

When Blue goes down, Lance thinks he's going to die.

Blindsided. Thrown violently against the console so hard he blacks out.

When he comes to, tangled in his own limbs on the floor, he's _freezing_. Blue is offline and not responding to his touch or his pleas. He can hardly see; even the warm light of his paladin armor doesn't glow, leaving him in total darkness. Something must be busted. _Oh goody_.

Lance tries to take stock. Cold. Dizzy. Disoriented with a splitting headache. He sees his helmet on the ground, cracked, so a bump to the head makes sense. _Cold_. There's a sharp twinge on his leg, on the outer right thigh. His chest plate is damaged too, probably from connecting to the console after being flung forward. He's shivering because, again, he's _cold_.

Which is weird because his flight suit should regulate his temperature— _Oh, crud._

Lance runs his hand down his thigh to feel the damage and finds the crack in the armor right away. Beneath it, the flight suit is torn as well. "Crap," he says, folding his arms over himself with a pout when he sees his breath.

" _—_ _ance! Answer me!"_

The small voice of Keith comes from his cracked helmet. Relieved the damn thing still works, Lance slides it on. "I'm here," he announces, watching his breath coil into the air once more.

 _"_ _Lance! For crying out— I thought you were dead!"_

"You'd love that," Lance jokes, in need of a sense of normalcy because its dark and its _cold_ and its quiet and—

 _"_ _Are you hurt?"_

"I've felt better. Nothing too bad, really. Still alive and kicking, not to mention g-good lookin'." _Cold, though_.

 _"_ _Lucky me,"_ Keith drawls and Lance can practically hear him rolling his eyes. _"Can you please try to be serious for once? Tell me what you remember."_

Lance hugs himself tight and thinks, trying to pull out the key points of what happened.

"Uh, let's see. Blue went down after we got split up," He recalls. He can still picture the brief glimpse of the planet he crashed into before, well, crashing into it. White with dusty looking clouds and void of life. Beautiful, distractingly so. He saw the vast waterscape and the towering blocks of ice. "Keith, my lion is completely down, poor girl. Not even backup power. And it's dark, I can't see anything outside. I have no idea where I landed. What about you? You hit?"

A few ticks go by, enough that for a moment Lance thinks that communications have failed. But then, "No."

Of _course_ Keith wasn't hit. But, you know. Yay.

When Keith speaks again, it sounds calculated. "Listen to me. Blue had a pretty rough landing. Looks like she might have gone offline before she even hit the water." Water. So he and Blue were at the bottom of an ocean or lake. Or whatever. "I don't know how deep the water goes, Lance, but Red won't go in."

"Gee, thanks, Red."

"Lance."

"Sorry. I guess that explains the black _nothingness_ outside." Lance fiddles with Blue's controls in hopes that his frayed nerves will inspire her to come back to life. She doesn't. "So you can't come get me?"

"You're breaking up," Keith informs, sounding frustrated. Lance is frustrated too. Because he knows how unforgiving and dangerous unfamiliar waters can be. Lance knows that the ocean is an amazing, sometimes literally breath-taking force. Even a powerful swimmer such as himself knows better than to take her lightly.

That aside, he has no way of knowing how deep the water runs, like what if it's really, really deep? He can hold his breath for a long time but would it be _long enough_?

"Lance," Keith calls again when he gets no response. "I can't get in touch with the others and I can't come get you. With Blue down… you're going to have to swim back to the surface."

Ha ha. _Ha_. Swim. Through the dark, unfamiliar waters of an ice planet. Ha ha. No way.

"Yeaaaah I'm afraid that plan is no bueno for me," he says, feeling his chest go tight at the thought of having to hit the water. Strong swimmer or no, that was stupid dangerous when his suit and armor are damaged and the coldness is already sinking into his skin. Kissing his bones like the ghost of a promise. He'll freeze. He'll die.

And if he stays? Same.

"Your suit should take care of you on the way up. We'll come back for Blue."

Lance reaches out to touch Blue's console, wincing at how icy it feels against his fingertips, to where it almost stings. Then he feels his breath hitch. He's shivering still. _Don't panic_ , he tells himself because no one else is there to do so. He tries to keep the waver out of his voice when he responds. "Uhh, my helmet is damaged. I don't know if it'll hold air under water right now.

 _And also my suit is torn. It's like negative a million degrees in here._

Thing is, Keith is still right. Leaving his lion is currently his best option. Blue doesn't appear to be waking up any time soon and is getting colder by the tick. He'll be a popsicle if he stays put too long. The water's icy touch is wrapping around Blue's mechanical body, turning her into an ice coffin, and even if Lance chooses to stay, even if he chooses to go down with his gorgeous ship, he'd be putting unnecessary stress and responsibility onto his team.

The sigh on the other end of the radio is heavy. Lance imagines Keith is blowing his bangs out of his face and scowling at the new information.

" _You don't do anything half-assed, do you?"_

"Nope. Full ass, all the way." Lance actually laughs at his own joke because, well, laughter is comforting somehow, even if it's his own. Even if it just bounces of the metal walls. Anything to battle the deep quiet surrounding him.

 _"_ _If your helmet really is busted we won't be able to communicate when you're in the water."_

So this is really happening. Okay. Lance reminds himself that he grew up in the water. Swimming, surfing, snorkeling on a beautiful beach he once called home. He has a swimmer's build, a result of playing with the waves and currents every day. He has strong legs, powerful strokes and can hold his breath for a long time.

But frigid water is different. An entirely new set of risks. And… honestly? It's been a while.

 _Just hold your breath. Swim fast._

Simple.

"I'm ready," he lies.

But he finds himself near the hatch, palm hovering over the button to release it. Doing so will allow the water to rush in and start the clock on his swim to the surface.

He hesitates. Thinks of all the things he can't afford to lose by not being fast enough. Takes time to realize that these could be his final moments if he fucks up.

"Keith," he whispers, unsure what exactly he wants to say. His fingers smooth over the hatch release. Should he give his last words? Never thought it'd be with Keith, but somehow, it doesn't disappoint him. "I…"

"You'll be fine. I've seen you in the water. I'll be waiting for you when you reach the surface."

Keith, a damn beacon of confidence and necessity. A lifeline leaving no room for self-doubt. Keith won't let him die. Shiro and the others would never forgive him.

Lance opts to shed his armor so as not to get weighed down by the extra bulk. He puts the helmet over his head though, with some half-baked hope that it'll still function as a rebreather. He doubts it, though. No half-assing, after all.

"Okay. I'm on my way."

He takes a few deep breathes to prep himself into holding it. Eyes closed, he imagines the beach, the gentle touch of spoondrift when the waves are big enough and the grainy texture of wet sand under the pads of his feet. He pretends to be there as he slams a fist down on the button.

He knows what to expect but he still isn't ready. The water comes in fast and the cold hits him instantly, shocking his system and he can't help gasping, completely destroying the hope of a holding a deep lungful of oxygen. Before the water can devour every bit of open space, Lance finds a tiny pocket of air and sucks in a quick, sloppy breath and seals his lips tight. The urge to hyperventilate is so, so real, but Lance knows swallowing the water, especially this early, will kill him.

Guess the helmet is no good, then.

He ditches it, trying not to focus on the fact that he's alone now with nothing but his thoughts. No voice in his ear and a very tangible risk of not hearing anyone's voice ever again. Not even Blue.

He pushes himself upwards with as much leg power as he can muster. Mama didn't raise no quitter.

The cold is _biting_ , and Lance _knows_ he's normally faster than this but can't get his body to push. He can feel himself shivering in the water, from the cold and from stress, the mental picture of the beach now a vision of the arctic.

His chest begins to burn already, and while he's certain he is kicking with his feet, he struggles to feel them swishing in the water. It gets harder and harder for his arms to make strokes and he feels trapped by the sheer darkness of the sea around him. It threatens to close in on him and crush him completely.

It's cold, it's cold, it's so _quiznacking cold_ and Lance can feel his body shutting down. His limbs lock up and its still _so dark—is he even close!?_

 _I'm dying_ , he thinks. _I'm going to die in my own element._

Hope dwindles when he realizes he can't hold his breath for much longer. He's been swimming for what feels like forever with anchors for limbs and its just so dark he _knows_ he won't make it. But he tries, for himself, for the team, to prove to Keith that he can because for some reason Keith _believes in him_ , but there's a sharp pain in his chest and his body _hurts_.

Then it happens. Bubbles escape past his lips and he sucks in a mouthful of water in their wake. His arms refuse to propel him any further and, his momentum stalled, he begins to sink. He begins to thrash.

He doesn't know how close he made it to the surface, but before he blacks out, he sees a light. _Two lights_ , his mind supplies. Two lights maneuvering through the depths towards him, and Lance thinks, as he fades, _my beautiful girl_.

xxx

When he wakes up he's still _freezing._

The blackness is gone. Instead he sees Red, the color of fire and heat. The color of Keith.

"Ke… K-K-K-Kei—"

"Stop talking, idiot."

Lance wraps his arms around himself as tight as he can but the finger strength isn't there. Keith has a blanket swathed around him snugly and Lance can tell that he isn't wearing anything under his—

"Wh-wh-what the… Why a-am I—"

"I said stop talking."

 _"_ _You undressed me."_

"Do you not understand how hypothermia works?"

 _Sorta_ , he wants to say. _Sorta but apparently not well enough?_

While he should have a lot to say to this, being slightly warmer than freezing is a lot more prominent than losing a layer of clothing. Lance doesn't grumble about it because he's just grateful that, while Lance is no quitter, Keith is the survivor. He can feel Keith's hands poking around at the cut above his hip, then the cut streaking across his temple. He doesn't look overly concerned over said injuries, but he doesn't look thrilled, either.

"W-was I clo-close?"

The heaviness of Keith's sigh startles him. He seems tired. Stressed and composed all at once. He says, "To the surface? Hard to say. But having a near-death experience must have prompted Blue to wake up. She broke through the surface and opened up for me, with you inside."

The swell of pride that Lance feels for his lion isn't enough to warm him up, but it's close.

"G-good old Bl-Blue."

"Yeah, apparently all it took was you drowning."

"Almost drowning." He can hear himself slurring. He tries to pull the blanket tighter around himself but he lacks the strength. "Chest h-hurts."

"…I had to do CPR. Lance," Keith says dark. "Why didn't you tell me your suit was torn? We could have… You might have… Why can't you just stay _safe_ for once?"

There is something in Keith's voice that Lance wants to understand but he is too cold to process it. He just wants to be crushed by one of Hunk's powerfully warm hugs or indulge in one of his Mamá's spicy home-cooked meals.

But for now he has Keith, who is now rubbing his hands up and down Lance's arms rapidly. "Transferring warmth," he explains when Lance makes a confused expression. And Lance lets it happen, knowing Keith is better off taking care of Lance's survival than Lance himself. He doesn't complain. They don't have to talk about this, not now, not later. Not ever.

It's… kind of what they do with bonding moments, now.


	3. (Near DeathBloodLoss) Lance the Bleeder

**A/N:** Today's Prompt: Near Death and/or Blood Loss

Not much to say this time around. Enjoy this little piece!

 **hyggelig -** (adj). taking pleasure from the presence of gentle, comforting and soothing things; a feeling of friendship, warmth, peace and contentment.

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DAY 3. **NEAR DEATH AND/OR BLOOD LOSS**

Keith is not happy.

He's pretty damn annoyed, actually. Because they should be back on the castleship right now. But no. Lance is moving too slow. He's moving too _loud_.

And now Keith is in a closet. On an enemy ship. Hiding. Waiting. _With Lance._

It wouldn't be so bad but the closet is small, stuffed with cleaning supplies that Keith assumes scrubs away all the bloodshed because the tiny space reeks of it.

Keith presses his back against the wall to create as much space as he can in the cramped closet, but it doesn't feel like enough. And maybe Lance missed the memo but they're trying to _hide_ and the idiot is breathing _awfully_ loud, obnoxiously so, like he's just finished a marathon. So loud that Keith is certain passing sentries will hear it.

To add to his list of annoyances, he can hear something dripping as well. _Drip, drip dripping_ and puddling at his boots.

There are shadows floating by the sliver of light at the bottom of the door. And Keith isn't in the mood to be found, so he throws a hand across Lance's mouth and nose to block the sound and _presses_.

Lance mumbles into his palm, his breath heightening. He even latches weakly onto Keith's wrists to try and dislodge the grip, but Keith holds fast. There are bodies on the other side of the door—he can hear them—and Keith isn't going to die today because of Lance.

Once the sound of footsteps fade away, Keith glares at Lance through the darkness. "I'm going to let you go but you need to be quiet," he whispers harshly. Lance whines, a sound that is muffled and trapped behind Keith's fingers, followed by the softest of moans.

Keith waits just long enough to convince himself they are in the clear, then removes his hand from Lance's mouth to grip the door's handle. There is a bay of escape pods not far off and if they hurry, they can be back on the castleship in a matter of doboshes.

"Come on," he urges, tugging at Lance's arm as he pries the door open. His boots, wet from the puddle in the closet, slip a little but he manages to find his balance even as Lance collapses onto the floor with a muted grunt. He doesn't get back up.

"We don't have time for this," Keith growls, moving to peel Lance off the floor, and then he notices it. Blood, fresh and vibrant, on the floor and stinging his nose. It's on his boots and pooling underneath—

"Lance!" It's louder than he means. Keith is kneeling down within a tick, rolling Lance onto his back to allow himself access to the damage. He swallows a curse. There is a cut along the right side of Lance's stomach, _deep_ and pumping precious blood and it throws Keith for a loop because he doesn't remember Lance getting hit and Lance didn't _say anything_.

He thinks back to the puddle in the closet, how he'd been standing in a pool of Lance's blood and did nothing but restrict his already labored breathing, and tries to calculate how much time has been wasted.

"Well that's… not good," Lance wheezes, and Keith is thankful that Lance is squirming in discomfort because it's much better than the _complete stillness_ he was moments before. Keith grabs Lance's hands and presses them over the wound and applies pressure. He does not let panic take over, but he most definitely does not feel in control. Lance grits his pink-stained teeth. Says, "Gonna start keeping track of h-how many times you have to… you know, take care of me."

"It's not a contest, dumbass. Why is everything a competition with you? And _here's_ a question for you; _why didn't you tell me you got hit?"_

Lance's chest shakes when it rises and falls and Keith pushes harder on Lance's hands to encourage good pressure. Blood spills over both of their fingers at it continues to pump. He has no idea how much blood Lance has lost but he can see the way Lance's eyes struggle to focus.

"Was just before the… the closest. Adren… adrenaline. Don't be mad. I didn't kn-know it was so… At the time I though—"

"Okay. Okay," Keith says, startled at the softness of his own voice. "You didn't know; fine. It's… fine. Save your breath. Just… Just."

He wishes Shiro was here.

They are so close to escape. If they don't run into any trouble, they can still make it. Lance can still make it.

"Sorry," he mutters, scooping Lance up off the floor and into a fireman's carry. He needs an arm free to wield a weapon.

Lance growls at the way Keith's shoulder digs into his stomach, clearly agitated, but voices nothing beyond that. He understands that this is faster. Fast is good. Agreeable Lance is good.

So Keith keeps close to the walls and runs as smoothly as he can but he knows Lance is suffering. But Lance is also _dying_ and Keith prefers Lance in pain than being dead.

He needs to hurry though, he knows. Lance, thought he tries, is unable to plug the wound like this, and is losing blood. It's all over both of their armor and dripping on the floor, leaving a trail to their location.

On top of that, Lance is disturbingly _not chatty_.

Keith scowls. _You don't make things easy, do you?_

Only a few ticks later and Lance is writhing, hands off the wound and instead groping and pushing at Keith's back, trying to alleviate the pressure being forced onto his stomach by Keith's shoulder. "H-hurts, you j-jerk."

Damn. That was pretty slurred. Keith ducks into a darkened corner and slides Lance off his shoulder and onto the floor. Their exit is just around the corner and Keith expects there to be sentries posted there. He can't have Lance bogging him down while he clears their way out.

"I'll be right back," Keith vows, guiding Lance's hands back to his wound, which is still steadily oozing. He pushes down, _hard_. "Keep pressing. Stay quiet."

It looks like Lance wants to nod. Instead he meets Keith's eyes with more trust than Keith is comfortable with. He breathes in and out slowly, gurgling.

Then Keith is off, sprinting around the corner with his sword arched at the ready. As expected, a pair of sentries guard the nearest set of pods. Before any alarms can be raised, Keith is on top of them, dismembering the arm of one and thrusting his sword through the chest of the other. The torso sticks, so Keith swings it around like a bat to crack the first sentry in the head. They both go down in a fizzled heap of scrap metal and Keith makes a beeline back to Lance.

Lance is still slumped up against the wall where Keith left him, hands no longer on his injury but instead weakly holding his blaster. He points at Keith with shockingly steady aim, warbles something unintelligible, and fires.

Before Keith's heart has a chance to fall back into rhythm, he hears the metallic _thump_ of a sentry hitting the floor behind him.

"Even Steven," Lance murmurs before going slack.

Keith stoops down to pick him up again; he's heavy and awkward to carry but Keith manages.

"Hold on," he commands irritably because irritation is easier than alarm and it allows him to push his concerns to the wayside.

He rushes to the closest escape pod and crams himself into the single seat, draping Lance uncomfortably across his lap.

"Just a little longer."

A few buttons and switches and the pod door closes and they are shot off into space. Keith sets the coordinates and activates autopilot, then spends the next agonizing stretch of time pushing down on Lance's wound. It feels like he's lost so much, but Lance has a habit of… whatever _this_ is, this flirtation with danger, and for as much as Lance hates the pods, he always comes out as loud and buoyant as ever, ready for the next near-death experience that will shed the years off of all the people who give a damn about him.

But while a cyropod can seemingly work wonders, it cannot revive the dead. Keith pushes so hard on Lance's wound that Lance whimpers, because he'll be _damned_ if he's going to let it come to that.

"Did…you… did you hear what I s-said? When I… shot the guy?"

Lance's soft voice drags him back to the now, and Keith looks down and finds himself focusing on bloodied lips. Astonished they can still smile, even now. Swallowing thickly, Keith says, "No."

Because it looks like in spite of himself, Lance is proud and really, really wants to tell him.

"Hah. I said, _d-drop dead_."

Then Lance's eyes roll back and he sinks heavily into Keith's lap.

xxx

Keith is there when the pod hisses open and Lance spills out. He falls heavy like a stone, arms outstretched for a body to catch him, trusting someone will be there. He probably doesn't expect it to be Keith when he flops into his waiting arms, but he doesn't complain either. His legs wobble with his own weight, hands rubbing at his side where he'd been bleeding out less than a night ago.

"Saved me," Lance mutters sleepily. It's nice to hear Lance speak without strain. Then he adds, with an audible pout, "…again."

Saving each other is what they do, for each other and for the universe. Keith doesn't say it because there is no way that Lance doesn't know this already. The only thing that Lance _doesn't_ seem to remember these days, or even from the start, are the intimate moments between himself and Keith.

There is a tempting itch in Keith that makes him want to call Lance on it, to accuse him of remembering them all, but he chooses not to because then he'll have to acknowledge how many they've had so far. And then there is the chance that Lance will never shut up about them, and that, Keith thinks, is a far worse fate.

So he lets Lance lean against him as the chill of the pod melts away, and Keith continues to hold him even long after Lance seems to have fully warmed up, and says nothing. Neither of them do.


End file.
